


Shadowplay

by XYDamianKane



Series: Kinktober 2019 [24]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU, Red Hood and the Outlaws (Comics)
Genre: Blue Balls, Clothed Sex, Crossdressing, Dubious Consent, Exhibitionism, Gender Dysphoria, Kinktober 2019, M/M, Sexual Fantasy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-25
Updated: 2019-10-25
Packaged: 2021-01-13 16:01:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,181
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21165209
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/XYDamianKane/pseuds/XYDamianKane
Summary: Roman’s not stupid, he must know--hell, enjoy--the sort of recursive shame-arousal cycle this stuff always makes Jason feel.Not that it really matters how Jason feels about it.





	Shadowplay

**Author's Note:**

> Jason is undercover, horny things happen, maybe a touch of Stockholm syndrome is at play. Like, "Blurry" by MissNaya is very nearly a parent work. Definitely read it if you like this pairing, but mind the tags.
> 
> This fic takes place after it's gone on for a long time and Jason has kind of resigned himself to his quasi-mob-wife status--to the point where we're not quite in mindbreak territory, and yet.
> 
> Also Jason is kind of...ambiguously trans, or at least has feelings in that vein. Truly, Schrodinger's egg.

Day 24: **Cross-dressing**** | Reluctant Sex/Blackmail | Window/Balcony Sex | **Overstimulation

* * *

Roman’s not stupid, he must know--hell, enjoy--the sort of recursive shame-arousal cycle this stuff always makes Jason feel.

Not that it really matters how Jason feels about it.

It’s not that there weren’t plenty of clothes hung up in Jason’s closet for the evening, it’s just that most of them were lingerie pieces worth several months of rent: an old-fashioned camisole, panties, a garter belt, stockings, all in off-white lace and nylon. Most of them are barely there (set dressing, he thinks) with the major exception of a waist cincher, paneled in floral painted silk but otherwise off-white to match. He snaps it in place over the rest.

It hits him that he’s used to Roman picking out his outfits, now. He swallows and resolves to deal with that later.

There’s a dress, too: black, of course. It fits _concerningly_ well, even across his broad chest. The way it’s cut emphasizes the bulk of his pectorals and almost makes them look like soft like a woman’s chest. The skirt is actually pretty long, and fans out in structured folds, but there’s a slit up one side, all the way to the waist that Jason knows is for...access. 

He can’t escape his reflection, not with the stupidly huge mirror Roman had installed in here, so he confronts it head on.

He’s wobbles closer to the mirror. He’s never felt less graceful than he does in the heels and the _ bitch _ of it is that they’re not even that tall: four inches at the most. He imagines he looks more like a baby deer than a mid-rate drag queen with a sugar daddy.

He hasn’t gotten his hair cut in a while because he doesn’t want Roman to know who his barber is. That’s the silly truth of it.

Roman doesn’t like him to straighten it, so it’s as uncontrollably curly as it’s ever been in a way that makes him think, disturbingly, of Selina. His hand flies up to fidget with the uneven curls at the nape of his neck, and the motion looks weirdly delicate.

_God_, it’s so weird.

Roman appears in Jason’s reflection the doorframe, hands in the pockets of his suit pants. His head is tilted a little, and it’s fond enough that Jason imagines he would be smiling inside the mask.

He produces a little jewelry box, and there are two clip-on earrings inside. The only clip-on earrings Jason has really seen up close have been the magnetized fake pearls in the Cave’s disguise closet and the big, tacky plastic ones Dick uses for drag.

These actually look nice: elegant silver chain with matching smoky gems cut like teardrops at the end. It’s all delicate, round-edged: impossible to use as a weapon.

Jason’s eyes flick up to Roman’s mask, and he’s asking for permission. Roman’s hands, steady and graceful even with the challenge of his gloves, snap each onto Jason’s ears for him.

Roman produces a lipstick tube next, and Jason has to duck his head and let his lips part for Roman to apply it.

Roman steps back.

“I think your freckles are pretty, and your eyelashes are already so long, so why gild the lily?”

Jason flushes and feels a little ill for it.

He can’t think of anything to say, so he tries for a smile.

* * *

Roman has booked whole floor of the restaurant, and asked that the waitstaff appear at certain times. They do, like clockwork.

Jason picks at the first course and doesn’t touch his wine at all. Roman seems to approve.

Then they have, by Roman’s request, thirty minutes alone.

Roman takes his hand, and leads him to the balcony.

They’re outside, where anyone could see, and Roman is fucking his ass. It hurts like it always does, but it's smoother than Jason would have expected given it's been about an hour since he prepped himself.

He’s bent over the railing and the wrought iron digs into his stomach with every thrust.

Jason has to hang onto the ironwork to keep himself from falling. It’s not like he can balance in the heels under normal circumstances.

He can see his own hands, clutching white-knuckled. He sees the bunched fabric of the dress, all pushed to the front for Roman’s convenience, sway towards him and away with Roman’s thrusts. He doesn’t want to look down or look up: there’s no way to hide his face like this, and the height makes him a little ill if he thinks about it too much. At least the streetlights won’t sell him out this high up.

He imagines the silhouette they must make: one moving, violent shape, dark against the lights of the restaurant. 

He knows the Bats’ patrol routes all too well and at least one of them is due down this street at some point within the next hour. It’s paranoid, but part of him believes that Roman _ knows_, and this isn’t just his normal level of…whatever.

Two thoughts arise, and they illuminate each other in the harshest light: 

  1. If they see him...will _they_ think he’s a woman? 
  2. Dick always did like women stronger than him, taller than him. 

Jason knows he’s red since all the blood has rushed to his head--do the thoughts make him flush deeper? Is that even possible? Roman’s speeding up and that usually means he’ll cum soon, so Jason grits his teeth and takes it. His earrings are swinging wildly, the gemstones hitting his temples with their rhythm.

The thoughts keep swirling: would Dick be jealous? Would Dick fight Roman more brutally for Jason’s sake?

He’s hard and the panties he’s wearing aren’t doing a ton to contain it. At least the layers of fabric shoved aside are mostly hiding it. 

He gives up and stops fighting his fantasies. It should make this more fun, maybe he’ll even cum. 

What if Dick found them like this and fought Roman off? What if Jason stayed here, dress hiked up, hole fucked open, ready to be used? Would Dick lose control, let the adrenaline of the fight take over?

(He’d probably just tell Jason how to shave with fewer cuts next time. At least Roman had helped him shave his ass, that seemed like a dangerous solo gambit.)

Roman pulls out, jacks himself off for a bit, then pushes back inside Jason just to cum in him. It’s hot like a brand and painful in its own way: it says he wasn’t good enough to get Roman off, he's just a pretty _cumrag_.

Jason’s first concern is for the dress. The underwear are _ clearly _ a lost cause, probably stretched out from having pulled aside for so long.

He’s still hard.

Ain’t that something.

Roman extends a hand, and Jason takes a moment to tuck his erection to lie flat, up under the garter belt. He readjusts his skirt to cover it.

He looks back instinctively, to the other high places on this street, where birds might perch.

Nothing.

He takes Roman’s hand.

**Author's Note:**

> Jason fantasizing sexually about being rescued...isn't that interesting.
> 
> Can you tell I love clothes and desperately wish I could draw this :(


End file.
